


The Perils of PowerPoint

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson thinks he's falling for his flatmate, but his attempts to further the relationship don't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perils of PowerPoint

The kiss had been a bad idea.

Seconds before, when John was still swaying slightly on his feet, staring at Sherlock's profile silhouetted against the sunset streaming in through the windows of 221B Baker Street, marveling at the way his dark hair curled around his temples, it had seemed like a really good idea. A little mental warning klaxon began to sound as he put down his drink on the side table, but John ignored it. He stood on his tiptoes and put his hands up to Sherlock's cheeks to get his head into a kissing position, pressing his lips to Sherlock's thin, unyielding ones.

By the time John had his heels back on the ground where they belonged, the alarm bells in his mind were going full blast, mostly due to the blank look Sherlock was giving him.

"...What?" said John.

To which Sherlock sighed and, sounding heavily put-upon, said, "I was afraid this would happen."

And somehow, for reasons John's tipsy brain had trouble keeping up with, this meant Sherlock had to give him a lecture. Not just a talking-to, but a proper lecture. Sherlock insisted John sit down on the couch while Sherlock stood in front of him, laptop balanced on one forearm, referencing charts and photographic evidence and even playing a few audio clips of John himself. (John wasn't sure how Sherlock had gotten those. He suspected Mycroft might have been involved, but upon further reflection decided he didn't want to know.) Regardless, Sherlock presented a big pile of evidence which, unequivocally and definitively, proved... something.

"What's all this for, again?" said John, interrupting Sherlock's dissertation on John's preferred style of pants.

Sherlock's jaw snapped shut mid-word. He blinked down at John.

"You kissed me," he said.

"Yes, I remember that bit," said John. "But that doesn't explain..."

He waved helplessly at Sherlock's laptop and the myriad Post-It notes attached to an apparently random collection of objects that had appeared on the coffee table at some point over the course of the last hour. John squinted at the half-drunk bottle of milk labeled "Exhibit F".

Sherlock sighed, an even heavier one than he had when this whole mess had started.

"Haven't you been paying the slightest bit of attention?"

"Of course," John lied, "but that doesn't mean you're making any sense."

"I knew I shouldn't have used PowerPoint," Sherlock muttered to himself.

"Well just skip ahead and––"

"––should have listened to Tufte. I assumed my own intellect would be enough to overcome the inherent flaws in the program's cognitive style, but clearly it isn't working. Perhaps there's still time to draw up some handouts––"

"Sherlock!" said John. Shouting didn't always shut Sherlock up when he was on a roll, but tonight it did, and John silently thanked God for it.

"Tell me what your point is," said John, and before Sherlock could interrupt him, added, "in a hundred words or less."

Sherlock scowled, his eyes scanning back and forth in their sockets, scrutinizing John's face before he replied.

"You have mistaken your close fraternal feelings for romantic ones and attempted to initiate a sexual relationship with me. Whether or not you believe yourself to be capable of physical attraction to another man is immaterial, as I personally find sexual contact with anyone besides myself distracting. Furthermore, if a romantic relationship between us went sour, I would be out of both an assistant and a flatmate, and quite frankly a person with your qualifications was difficult enough to find once. In short, any attempt at kissing, frotting, fondling, or outright sexual contact between us will lead to a disastrous end, particularly since you believe yourself to be in love with me and, as a high-functioning sociopath, I am neurologically incapable of experiencing such a phenomenon. Attachment? Yes. Love? No. And while you may think to yourself, 'Oh, but I could work around that! I could change him!', I would like to take this moment to remind you how many of the murder victims even Lestrade considers too boring to call us in for thought the same thing."

John was fairly certain that was more than a hundred words.

"So," he said slowly, "I can't kiss you... because you'll kill me?"

Sherlock frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps."

"All right," said John, slapping his hands on his knees before pushing himself to a standing position. "I've got an idea. How about I go to bed, and when I wake up, I pretend the last four hours or so were a nightmare, and we go on with our lives as though it never happened?"

"I suppose that would be an agreeable solution," said Sherlock after a moment's consideration.

"Fantastic," said John, already on his way to his room.

Five minutes later, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, about to fall asleep, John wondered what he could have possibly found attractive about the horse-faced twit.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday present for a friend. She specifically requested something where her OTP did not get together.


End file.
